Soldiers Without Borders
by NemoTheSurvivor
Summary: After nine years of sorrow and hardship, a group of MSF soldiers, deployed during the attack on Mother Base, hears word that Big Boss is alive.


My alarm buzzed its annoying tone. Groggily, I turned it off. The sun shone through the blinds, lighting the room. I yawned before stretching. Wednesday meant one hundred and sixty push ups. I lay face first on the ground before starting the exercise. My arms started going weak after a hundred and thirty. I focused my mind, blocked out the pain, and powered through the last thirty. "You make it look easy," someone said.

I rolled onto my back. "Moring Crow," I said.

Bleeding Crow smiled. The young Oriental woman was something of a protégé, though I would never tell her that. She didn't take after my non-lethal mentality. "When are you going to add more?" Crow asked. "I haven't seen you fall flat on your face in months."

"Almost time," I said. "Two more weeks." I held out my hand. Crow took it and helped me up. "Status?"

"Same old, same old," Crow said. "Russia wants to know about America, America wants to know about Russia, drug lords want to know how the competition is doing, and criminals want guns."

I sighed. Our current jobs were far different from what we used to do. "How's the team?"

"Alive and operational," Crow said. We started walking out of the personnel rooms and towards the operations center. "Young Flamingo and Voracious Beetle are handling negotiations for a couple of drug lords. Diligent Chameleon flew them out there. Snobbish Shrimp is scanning radio signals, as always. Black Swan is investigating a lead, though he won't tell me what. I'm doing fine. Last, but not least, Burning Hawk is stressing out over things outside of her control."

"If I ordered you to leave me out of your reports, would you?" I asked.

"You need a day off," Crow said, ignoring me. "Or maybe a vacation."

"I can't." I put my hand on the door to the ops center. "I can't leave them alone."

"Hawk," Crow said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "it's not your fault. If we weren't out on a mission, we would've been killed too."

"I should've known it was a setup," I whispered. "Now, we're all that's left."

"And you've kept us that way," Crow said.

"All the more reason to stay," I replied.

"Nine years is a long time without a day off," Crow said as I opened the door.

Our ops center was a grungy piece of shit that barely functioned on a good day. A large table where group meetings were held marked the center of the room. Three smaller tables were scattered around the room. Each table was covered in papers. Shrimp's desk hid in the corner, where the small man sat and listened to any radio signals he came across. A large leather chair sat behind a large desk. Crow and I switched ownership of that chair every twelve hours. "Report," I said as I sat down.

"Nothing interesting yet," Shrimp said. He wrote something down on his scratch pad. "Just more coordinates."

"Carry on," I said. "Crow, get some sleep."

"You should too," Crow said as she walked out of the room. "It's a slow day at the office."

I nodded as I read the papers on my desk. Financial reports were positive, but barely. Trying to make a living as soldiers without anyone knowing where our allegiances lie is nearly impossible. The last time we looked for Big Boss, we all almost lost our lives in the attack that followed. Shrimp was never the same after that. I didn't blame him.

* * *

"Oh my god."

"Chameleon, are you okay?" I asked. No response. I opened the helicopter's doors. I gasped as I looked at out home.

The drilling platforms were gone. Everything Big Boss stood for, gone. "Who did this?" Shrimp asked.

I thought about Crow, Swan, Flamingo, and Beetle. They were waiting for the all clear, for another helicopter to come and pick them up. It was standard procedure to only send a small group in case of unforeseen circumstances. I'm glad the rest of them didn't have to see this.

"Get close to the water," I said, my voice cracking. "See if there are any survivors."

"We lost contact several days ago," Chameleon said. "I don't think–"

"I need to know," I said.

Chameleon sighed. "Going in."

Chameleon, Shrimp, and I spent the next several hours looking for any surviving members of Militares San Frontieres. We only saw eight bodies out of hundreds. "Where's everyone else?" Shrimp asked. "Do you think they got away?" I shook my head. "Hawk?"

"They went down fighting," I said through tears. "Their gear dragged them down."

"Movement!" Chameleon yelled. "Four o'clock!"

I looked outwards. A soldier floated in the water using a makeshift raft to stay afloat. "Get me above him!" I yelled.

Chameleon moved the helicopter into position above the man. I dropped a rope ladder down. The man waved it way. Without hesitation, I started climbing down the ladder. "Be careful!" Shrimp yelled.

I got the last rung on the ladder. "I'm here to help," I said. My first aid training kicked in. "What's your name?" I asked. No response. I examined the soldier. He wasn't wearing any gear, other than his clothing. The man's stomach was stained with blood. Something glinted in the man's hand. "Soldier, are you okay?" I asked. Again, no response. With one hand on the ladder, I reached out to the man's throat. No pulse. "Damn it!" I yelled.

"Hawk, what's going on?" Chameleon asked over the radio.

"He's dead," I said. "He lasted this long only to die right as I reach him!" I looked at the man again. The item in his hand caught my eye. "Hold position," I ordered. I reached out again, this time going for the man's hand. The dead soldier was holding a cassette tape. I took it, securing it in my chest pouch before climbing back up the ladder.

"Are you okay?" Shrimp asked as he pulled me into the helicopter.

"No," I replied. "I'm not." I pulled out the cassette tape. "For any MSF survivors," I said, reading the label. "He lived long enough to give us this. Let's pick up the others and find out what's on this tape."

* * *

"You shut your mouth!"

"I don't take orders from you!"

"Both of you, calm down!"

"This doesn't concern you!"

I opened my eyes. I must've fallen asleep reading the reports. Flamingo and Beetle yelling at each other woke me up. "What the hell is going on?" I asked.

"This idiot mistranslated!" Beetle yelled.

"At least I can speak three languages!" Flamingo yelled.

"Apparently not!" Beetle yelled.

"Guys, this isn't helping," Chameleon said, stepping between the two soldiers.

"Back off!" both Beetle and Flamingo yelled.

"Enough!" I yelled. "What happened?"

"Flamingo mistranslated," Beetle said.

"It was a simple mistake!" Flamingo yelled.

"Sure it was," Beetle yelled, "but that mistake cost us two clients and the money!"

I sighed. Beetle and Flamingo come from opposite sides of a war. They usually limit it to friendly rivalry, but every once in a while, bad blood surfaces. "Let's take a step back," I said, "and try to work this out as friends."

"You got a problem with me, farm boy?" Flamingo yelled, ignoring me.

"You bet I do, government dog!" Beetle yelled back.

I stood up. "You two need to calm down," I ordered. "Now."

"Guys, listen to Hawk," Chameleon said. She placed a hand on each soldier's chest.

"Get out of the way!" Beetle yelled.

"Let me at him!" Flamingo yelled.

Beetle threw a punch that connected with Chameleon's face. Flamingo charged Beetle afterwards, shoving Chameleon to the ground. I leapt over the table. Chameleon saw me in the air and rolled out of the way. I landed next to Beetle and Flamingo. If they wanted a fight, I would give them a fight.

I stepped between the two soldiers as they both punched each other. Beetle stood on my right, Flamingo on my left. I blocked both punches before retaliating with two of my own. Enraged, Beetle targeted me. I stopped his first punch and deflected his second before jabbing his gut. Flamingo's combat boot telegraphed his next move. I ducked under the punch. Flamingo lost his balance. I rose, connecting an uppercut. Flamingo staggered back as Beetle stepped forward. I elbowed Beetle in the face and kicked his knee. Beetle fell to one knee with a cry of pain. Recovered, Flamingo stuck out me. I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me, my elbow connecting with his gut. Flamingo lost his breath. I turned and slammed Flamingo's face into the wall. Beetle let out a war cry as he prepared to strike me. I faced him, punching his face. Beetle's head hit the wall behind him.

Both Flamingo and Beetle lay on the ground, moaning in pain. I took slow, deep breaths. "Still got it," Crow said, leaning against the wall.

"You should be asleep," I said.

"How can anyone sleep with those two causing such a racket?" Crow asked.

I turned away from Crow and towards Chameleon. "How's out pilot doing?" I asked.

"I've had worse during training," Chameleon said. "Don't worry about me."

"Then you can help Crow take these two to the personnel quarters," I said. "I'll discipline them after they–" Swan opened the door, breathing heavily. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand. "Report," I said.

"Group meeting," Swan huffed. "Now."

I sighed. "Alright."

Everyone gathered around the large table. Flamingo and Beetle, both bruised and battered, mumbled apologies to each other. Shrimp sat in his rolling chair at the corner of the table closest to his desk. Chameleon stood on my left, Crow on my right. I leaned over the table, across from Swan. "Well?" I asked.

Swan nodded to Shrimp. "I caught some strange chatter from Afghanistan," Shrimp said. "Apparently, someone had snuck into one of their bases, kidnapped a high-ranking soldier, rescued a POW, stole intelligence, and left without anyone knowing said person was there."

"So?" Crow asked.

"All at once," Shrimp said. "I wondered if it was someone else from MSF, so I asked Swan to check it out."

"What did you find?" I asked Swan.

"Someone has the Soviets spooked," Swan said. "Apparently, this isn't the first time this person has been to Afghanistan. One soldier reported he saw a person being lifted out by balloon. When the soldier went to investigate, a man shot him with a tranquilizer gun. The man had an eye patch over his right eye."

I knew a man who fit that description. Crow asked what we were all thinking. "Could it be him?" she whispered.

"It's been nine years," I said. "Why now?"

"I don't know," Swan said. "This man is covering his tracks well. Either that or he isn't leaving any. There was one report I had to confirm, so I called in a favor." Swan looked into my eyes. "The first reported sighting of this man in Afghanistan was during a breakout of a Soviet-held POW. The POW's name was Benedict 'Kazuhira' Miller."

I looked down at the table. It was too convenient. After nine years, and he acts like nothing happened. As much as I wanted to dismiss this as nothing, something told me this was real. "Hawk?" Crow asked. I looked up. Everyone had their eyes on me. "What do we do?"

I remained silent for a moment. I ran every possible scenario in my head. "This is a priority one directive," I said. "I–no, we–want to know if this man is really who we think he is. So find out. Everything else is secondary."

"Yes, ma'am!" Everyone yelled, rushing to their work stations.

"How can I help?" Crow asked. Chameleon nodded in agreement.

"Rest, both of you," I said. "I'm still in command, and I want our Pilot well rested when we figure out where this man lives."

* * *

It took eight days to find a general area where our mystery man lived. After much debate, we all decided the entire team would go at once. We sat in silence, the helicopter's rotors the only noise. Even though we knew the approximate location, all we could find was empty water.

After several hours of nothing, Chameleon's voice crackled through the headset. "We have entered a no-fly zone," she said. "They're warning us to turn back now."

"Let me talk to them," I said. I stepped towards the cockpit.

"Here," Chameleon said, handing me the radio headset.

"Identify yourself," a man said over the radio.

"This is Burning Hawk," I said. "Authorization: Sierra-Tango-Lima-Golf-Niner-Eight-Zero-Four-Five-Oscar."

The operator didn't immediately respond. "Authorization is negative, Burning Hawk. I say again, authorization is negative. You are to leave the no-fly zone in three-zero secs before–" The man stopped. I felt the despair threatening to take over my mind. Before I had a chance to order Chameleon to leave, the man said, "Burning Hawk, repeat authorization."

"Authorization: Sierra-Tango-Lima-Golf-Niner-Eight-Zero-Four-Five-Oscar," I said. "I say again, Sierra. Tango. Lima. Golf. Niner. Eight. Zero. Four. Five. Oscar."

Everyone looked at me. I tried to force myself to take slow breaths. It wasn't working. "Authorization confirmed," the man said. "Burning Hawk, I say again, authorization confirmed. You are cleared to land."

"Confirmed," I said. With a small laugh, I handed the headset back to Chameleon and said, "Take over. They're letting us land." Beetle and Flamingo cheered, Shrimp sighed, Swan smiled, and Crow put her hand on my shoulder.

"Confirmed," Chameleon said. I could hear the tears in her voice.

It felt like a dream. After nine years of hiding, we made it home. Chameleon flew where the man directed her. "There!" Shrimp yelled, pointing out a window. Everyone turned to look. A large orange oil rig with several struts sat in the middle of the ocean.

"We made it," Crow said. "I can't believe we actually made it." Chameleon took us to the closest strut and landed on the helipad. I looked out the window as Chameleon shut off the engine. Six soldiers in red berets stood at the edge of the helipad. They all had a patch on their arm. It wasn't the MSF patch. Crow looked at me. I nodded. Flamingo opened the door.

The seven of us stepped outside, unarmed. Chameleon stood furthest left, myself next to her, Crow next to me, then Shrimp, Beetle, and Flamingo, with Swan furthest right. We stood there as the six soldiers faced us, guns down. I wondered what they were waiting for. Crow shifted nervously. "Relax," I said.

Movement caught my eye. Two men left the building closest to the helipad. One man wore a large trench coat. I recognized Miller immediately, though he was missing an arm and used a crutch to walk around. The other man looked like a demon in human skin. His face was scarred from a massive explosion. A piece of black metal protruded from his right temple, presumably a piece of shrapnel that looked eerily like a horn. His left eye looked cold, the look of a dead man walking. His right eye was gone, covered with an eye patch.

"Salute!" I ordered. The seven of us snapped into a proper salute. I heard someone crying. Shrimp, from the sound of it. Chameleon sniffed, tears streaming from her eyes. I didn't blame them. Big Boss was alive. We were home. Big Boss smiled as he stepped towards us, passing the six soldiers in red berets. I let out a sound between a laugh and a sob as tears leaked from my eyes.

Big Boss stopped in front of us. His one eye scanned each of their faces. "Do you recognize them?" Miller asked. Big Boss nodded. "I'll see to it they get reassigned immediately." I smiled. It felt unbelievable to finally have a purpose again, to finally serve under Big Boss again.

Big Boss and Miller started walking back towards the nearby building. I knew they had more business to take care of. Miller instructed two soldiers to escort us. As the two soldiers passed Big Boss, he turned around and said, "Welcome home."


End file.
